


24 Hours

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Blogathon 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-28
Updated: 2007-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He passed out at 2am in his tiny bedroom amidst a tangle of half-opened boxes, the sound of Jackson's snores a steady rumble from the next room. His first day, Justin reflected just before his eyes closed, wasn't so bad after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	24 Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season Five  
> Written for Blogathon 2007, and prompted by LJ's shadownyc, who requested "post 513 schmoop, including the use of two previously unused wedding bands".

Justin's sojourn to New York City got off to an inauspicious start.

His plane was delayed at take-off, and then had to spend an hour circling JFK before it was finally allowed to land.

His moving men were early. And when they arrived at the brownstone that he was going to be sharing with Daphne's friend, Jackson, and discovered that Justin had not yet arrived, they decided that it was perfectly acceptable to take a hike. But first they left all his worldly belongings piled on the front stoop and tumbling down the stairs.

Justin stood staring at the mess in horror -- and in shock that no one had rummaged through his things -- before sighing heavily and beginning the long haul of lugging boxes upstairs.

Four flights of stairs.

Four steep flights of stairs.

Justin was thankful that he'd started going to the gym with Brian. His calves were getting a workout like they hadn't since… well, the night before. In bed. But still.

Mercifully Jackson had left a spare key under the mat outside 4B like he'd promised Daphne he would. It was, Justin thought, the only thing that had gone right that day.

Justin was on his fourth trip (and had nearly killed himself when he tripped on the scatter mat on the third floor landing, almost lost his grip on the prized box of books he was carrying, and teetered for a loooong moment against the rickety railing, sure that he was doomed) when Jackson arrived home.

Jackson Harley Jameson. African American. Six foot two, and built like a linebacker on steroids.

Justin felt like a hobbit. Or one of those keebler elves.

They sized each other up in the living room, Jackson staring at the mess, Justin with a box of CD's on his hip.

"So," Jackson finally drawled. "You're a fag."

Justin set his shoulders, mentally reviewing everything Cody had ever taught him about self-defence, wondering where the hell Daphne had met this guy. "Yeah," he said shortly.

Jackson nodded. "Me too. Only my family don't know it yet."

Justin let out a sigh of relief. "I came out when I was seventeen," he said.

Jackson whistled low. "You got balls, man," he said. He gestured toward the boxes. "You need some help with this shit?"

They spent the rest of the night drinking the bottle of Jagermeister that Jackson kept for a "special occasion", and smoking weed. They swapped tales of their childhoods, their relationships, their lives. Justin talked about Brian. He talked about his father. He talked about Jennifer and Deb, about acceptance, about love, and then had to wrestle the phone away when Jackson wanted to call his mother and out himself over long distance. Justin was just grateful that pot made Jackson loose-limbed and lethargic.

He passed out at 2am in his tiny bedroom amidst a tangle of half-opened boxes, the sound of Jackson's snores a steady rumble from the next room. His first day, Justin reflected just before his eyes closed, wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

Jackson had cleared out some space on the apartment's only bookcase, so Justin spent the morning nursing his hangover and deciding which of his books he absolutely needed to have at hand and which could stay buried in the box at the back of his closet. It was a daunting task. He knew that whichever volumes he picked, it would be less than two weeks before he'd suddenly have a burning desire to reread whatever tome was at the very bottom of the box.

"I'll get it," he shouted when the knock came at the door.

He expected… a neighbour. The mailman. A welcoming committee from a neighbouring apartment. Ten circus clowns. Anything but Brian Kinney, impeccably dressed, lounging against the door jamb as if he owned the place.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"Next month, next year, never. It's only time," he finally said. He tugged Brian into the apartment with a grin.

Brian shrugged. "A day."

"Brian--"

"We don't need rings or vows to prove that we love each other. That's what you said yesterday," Brian said. He took the small jewel box out of his pocket. "But I want them."

"You're crazy."

Brian arched a brow. "I get what I want."

Justin smiled. "We do have that in common."

Brian looked down at the open box, watched Justin through his bangs. "So?"

Justin hesitated. And… "I can't marry you when we're not even in the same state."

"I don't care about the vows," Brian said. "We've already said them anyway."

"When did you turn into a giant mushball?"

"Five years ago," Brian said evenly. "I'm just spectacular at hiding it."

"This the boyfriend?"

Justin started. For a big man, Jackson was extremely light on his feet. "Brian, this is my roommate, Jackson," he introduced. "Jackson, Brian Kinney."

Jackson's eyes narrowed. "You treat him right?"

Brian smirked. "What is this, _My Bodyguard_?"

"I thought you were staying in Pittsburgh."

"I am," Brian said.

"He is," Justin reiterated. He held up his hand and wiggled his finger, gold shining in the light. "But part of him is staying here, too."


End file.
